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Inued IVeek-lye-By Subscriptitin $3.00 per year.
U
‘ Entered at the New York. N. Y., Past
lvrrmlc Touxcy,Pubhsh.cr,168 West 23d Street, New Ym
SERVICE
OLD AND YOUNG KING BRADY, DE THC TIVES
Qfficc as Second-Class Matter
N0. 989.
NEW YORK, JANUARY 4, 1918.
Price 6 Cents.
THE BRADYS AND JOCKEY JOE
moR..
CROOKED VVORK AT THE RACE TRACK
By A NEW YORK DETECTIVE
CHAPTER I.
THE CASE OPENS.
“Hello, Bill! Going to the races?”
The speaker was a short, stout man, who was dressed in
a summer suit, and wore a handsome gold fob and sported a
fancy waistcoat.
His type are common about the racetracks of Long Island.
Chauncey Blew was his name.
The name was that of a patrician old family of New York's
early days. But Chauncey was, if a descendant of that line,
a poor living remnant of aristocracy.
His sphere seemed more naturally the table d’hote barroom
fllnfdl the companionship of some frowsy maid of the concert
a s.
The man whom he addressed was almost his opposite in
appearance and build.
He was tall and angular, with 9. hatchet face and shrewd
brown eyes.
His garb was somewhat seedy, and quite in keeping with.
his impecunious condition.
Bill Chardon was a well-known frequenter of the race-
tracks.
In New Orleans in the winter he hung about the paddock
and the betting ring.
Back to New York in the summer he was sure to come like
a migratory bird, to be seen every day at either Sheepshead,
Guttcnberg or Morris Park.
Where he got his livelihood or how was a mooted question.
There were times when Bill was known to be very much
on his “uppers.” Then he slept in the straw with some sym-
pathetic hostler, or under the benches of the grand-stand or
some other inexpensive place.
The scene was on board a Bay Ridge ferryboat.
A large crowd was on board, all on their way to Sheeps-
head.
At the ferry landing a train could be taken for Sheeps-
head direct.
So when Chauncey Blew hailed him Chardon turned with
a critical glance, and replied:
“You don’t need to ask that question, Blew."
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Blew. “I don’t think I do, Bill.
What would the racetrack do without Bill Chardon, or what
would Bill Chardon do without the racetrack?”
“That's right,” said Charrlon, with :1 grim’ smile. “In a
little while I s‘n:m’t need to follow; ‘."o v
“Is that .-:o'.’”
“It isi"
Cl‘.zLllll(‘(')' wlii.<llurl softly.
“Have you struck a g1':'.t't'.”’
“You might call it that,” said Chardon, in an ll1Ll'()n)l()CtlV(3
way.
“I sav now, Bill. I’m interested. I’ve done you a good
. K4,..- ‘V
J! I
turn before now. I’ve been playing in hard luck lately. Can’t
you put me on to something good?”
Chardon looked out over the bay in an inscrutable way.
It was some moments before he answered; and then, in
fact, it was not an answer.
He gave a violent start and turned livid. He stopped be-
hind the angle of the saloon cabin, staring the while at two
men seated far up in the boat's bow with their backs to him.
“Sh! Fiends and furies!” lie exclaimed. “Do you see those
chaps?”
Blew looked amazed.
“Where?”
"‘YI’Jp there by the port rail: Their backs are turned to
us.
“Oh, yes! By jingol It is the Bradys!”
try!
Blew looked quizzically at the other.
;Wcll, what of it? Why are you afraid of them?” he
as e
n
’’he Bradys! The two keenest detectives in this coun-
d.
fraid of them?” said Chardon, in a curious way. “I
didn’t say I was afraid of them!”
“But you stepped back here out of sight.”
“Well,” said Chardon testily, “I had reasons for not car-
ing to meet them just now. Do you see?”
Blew nodded complacently.
“That’s all right, Bill. I never mix in other people’s
affairs. Butethey are probably going to the races, too!”
“All right! Let them go! I will not interfere with them.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Blow, with a start. “I’ll wager I
know what they are after!”
Chardon turned a keen gaze upon him.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You know that old Amos Belden was found dead in his i
stable a week ago. The police believe he was murdered.
They've had their eyes on Jockey Joe Ward ever since.”
A sort of grayish pallor showed on Bill Chardon’s sharp
face. '
“Humph! Maybe that is their game!” he said.
“l’ll bet it is!” said Blew. with interest. “That makes
me think. I think you are pretty good friends with Jockey
Joe, aren’t you?"
Blew bent an inquiring gaze upon the other.
Chardon was ghastly in hue, and he glared at Blew in a
maniacal way.
“That’s none of your business!” he grittvd. “The least
you say about that the better. Now don’t forget that!”
His hands <‘.lcnc'lwrl, and he was the ]M‘l'SOIllflC2ll7l0I‘l of
malice and 1'LL',‘;(!. lilo. s’.cm>‘<‘. ix;-ck, almost terrified.
“For ll(‘:LVUZl':< s:.kr-, (Jhm “You seem
to be badly ra.‘.led. I thinl. i understand, though!"
Blew looked hard at Chardon. They stood thus for a full
minute.